Mismatched
by Heart of a Dixon
Summary: She was college-attending white girl. He was an athletic negro boy. What could these two possibly have in common? Broken hearts and a place among the inmates of Allenville Penitentiary. MeggetXOC
1. Welcome Home

I took a deep breath. _C'mon, Kai, you can do this. You've got this handled. Its just a bunch of prison inmates. _

I was shoved further along by one of the two guards behind me. Captain Asshat in front of me strutted along, preening like a peacock at the newest addition to the prison that he had caught in the act of theft. Which is actually a debatable charge.

I hadn't actually been the one to steal anything. I was just the one who got caught standing nearby. My luck was just shitty enough that out of all of our friends that had been standing around, I had been the one that got targeted for the robber to slip his ill-gotten goods into my bag when no one was watching.

So here I was in Allenville penitentiary.

I ignored the stares of the other inmates (all males). I was the only woman here, due to some kind of a mix-up with my charge papers that I had a feeling had something to do with the little joke I told the judge about his mom half way through my trial.

I tried to keep my gaze ahead, but just before we reached the doors of the main building of the pen, I looked off to the right. There was a large group of negro men watching me. There were maybe 15 of them, all stopping their weight-lifting to watch me pass by. A couple of them stuck out for some reason or another.

One was a rather large, bulkily built man with his shirt off and sweat beading down his dark, toned skin in his left hand he was holding what looked like a cheeseburger from McDonalds. My stomach grumbled at the thought and I internally pouted. But that was ridiculous. How on earth would he have gotten that in here?

Another was an even large man who looked just like a giant kid, excited glee in his eyes upon seeing the new inmate.

But the last one intrigued me the most. Maybe it was the way he watched me, the way that was so different than the rest, or maybe the ease with which he held himself, or just maybe his eyes that were possibly the deepest shade of brown I thought I had ever seen.

He had on a white tank top and a pair of jeans as well as a bandana tied tightly around his head, much like the one around mine, except mine had skulls residing beside the spaded pattern of the black cloth. His muscles were obvious even through his tank and his mouth was slightly open, his tongue rolling around near his teeth, adjusting the toothpick sticking out of it.

But he wasn't watching me like I was the first woman he had seen in a long time and he couldn't wait to make a pass at me like the rest of them (excluding the big kid). He was watching me like a normal person, like a nice person. His face was mostly blank, but his eyes revealed everything.

It felt like time stopped when I looked in his eyes, I seemed to stand there inspecting him for an hour or more.

He blinked twice and lifted a hand to give a small wave of acknowledgement.

I tilted my head forward a bit, the tiniest beginnings of a smile on the corner of my lips. I didn't wave back because the guards behind me would find some way for that to be me trying to escape.

We stepped into the cool building and out of the hot Texas sun. We traveled down a few tiled halls before coming to an office whose door was closed.

Captain Knauer knocked on the door and sent the other two guards away. "Now, if Warden Hazen asks you a question, you respond with-?" he asked, not turning around to face me.

I squinted at a corner of the door. "I'm assuming it's a yes-no question?"

He gave a sad sigh and spun around, snapping a quick punch to my gut.

I let out a gust of air and spat onto the ground, gasping for air as I rolled onto my side, my hands still cuffed behind my back. "Fuckin' asshole," I sputtered, still trying to regain my breath.

He grabbed my shit sleeve and hauled me up. Before I could stand all the way up, he kicked my left leg out from under me and I fell backward, hitting the back of my head on the tile.

"You're lucky my hands are cuffed you son of a bitch!" I yelled, not sure if my words came out coherent or not.

"Knauer, get that inmate in here and stop toying with her," came the voice of another man.

I opened my eyes and looked up to see what must have been Warden Hazen standing in the doorway to his office. From beside him, another inmate walked out, led by a guard. But wait… I've seen this guy before. Oh my shit! That is Paul Crewe! Maybe I had hit my head harder than I thought.

My eyes widened and Paul looked down at me. "I see you already got a little taste of Knauer Knuckle?"

I nodded, dazed.

"Move along," the guard behind Crewe commanded firmly.

Crewe cast an annoyed glance back at the guard before saying to me, "Good luck."

I nodded and then was pulled to my feet by Knauer as Paul Crewe was led down the hall to the cells.

I tried to pay attention to what the warden was telling me, but after the beating I took outside, most of it was a macaronic jumble. I figured I would be fine without the basic guidelines being droned at me; it was probably all common sense stuff anyway.

After my meeting with the warden, I was escorted by a different guard (one more passive and less violent than Knauer) to my cell. Second floor, number 257.

"We've renovated the room so that you can use the facilities without the prying eyes of your peers." Well that's a nice way of saying I can pee without creepers watching.

I nodded and allowed him to uncuff me before he locked me into my cell.

I gazed around. Well, for now, this was home.

* * *

**So guys, should I continue? :) Review and lemme know! **


	2. Author's Note Don't Hate Me!

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I'm sorry guys, but I might have to postpone the continuance of this particular fanfic. I don't have anywhere to watch the movie to make sure I am getting this whole thing right, and I really should concentrate on my other fics. I have a terrible habit of starting new stories while I'm in the middle of one already, so I have accumulated quite a few. For those of you who read my stories, thank you for bearing with that habit. :)

-Ash


	3. Hot Box

Walking through that cafeteria was an experience like no other. Hungry stares followed me, though no hands shot out to accompany them (thank God). I stayed silent, never getting too close to anyone, never making eye contact with anyone. I kept my head down and my speed up.

After the men in hair nets behind the buffet glass served me up a nice tray of sludge, I began making my way toward the back wall, away from the tables, where I planned on sitting on the ground and brooding (not eating).

When I was in the line, I had heard plenty of the men calling out jokes to Paul Crew, who had been just a few people in front of me in the line. I frowned. He seemed like a nice guy. Nice guys didn't last in prison. But neither did girls. I pushed the thought from my mind and continued walking.

Before I made it halfway to my wall, my one last beacon of solitude in this noisy, hot, cramped hell, what I had been anticipating happened. A hand shot out from the guys seated at the bench/tables and grabbed my arm. My head snapped up, my body tensed. I had been preparing to drop my tray and attempt to fight for my life with what few skills I had, but the owner of the hand came as enough of a surprise to stop me mid-step.

"They don't like me much, they like you too much apparently, so why don't you sit over here." Paul Crew gestured to the seat next to the black man across from him.

The man gave me a pleasant smile. "Nice to see someone of the opposite sex." I could tell he was joking, by the light in his eyes. "The name's Caretaker."

I silently sat down beside him, wary despite his friendliness. I shook his offered hand. "Kai Robinson."

Caretaker continued, informing us of the many perks of his friendship. "Whatever your pleasure," he whispered. "I can facilitate. You need weed, you need meth, hey, you need prozac, I'm your man." He looked up at Paul. "I know how you white boys always deal with that depression. I mean, me, personally, I don't get what you white boys are all depressed about. Hey, you're white! Smile! And for a small fee, I can even get you McDonald's."

"So I wasn't crazy," I mumbled to myself.

"Really?" Paul asked.

Caretaker nodded. "Yeah, that's right, Mickie D's. My man Cheeseburger Eddy's got the hookup." He pointed down the table to the large man I had seen in that weight-lifting group outside. The huge one with muscles bigger than my face. The one that kind of scared me.

I searched around him for the boy I had seen with him earlier, but saw no sign of him. Oh well.

"Cheeseburger Eddy?" Paul asked.

Caretaker gave him a carefree smile. "That's right. We can get our McFlurry on."

"What about the love of a beautiful woman?"

Caretaker cast a glance at me. "Unless she's the one for you, which I don't see happening, you're gona have to lower your standards on the beautiful part... And on the woman part." He gestured to a group of men in feminine cut jean clothing and makeup who gave us very gay "heeeyyy"s and blew kisses.

Crew made a face and mumbled, "Let's just stick with the cheeseburgers."

Caretaker waved a hand. "He may look ugly now, but in eight months, he's gonna look like Beyonce."

"No thanks."

"Now here's the most important part," Caretaker said as Paul and I leaned in closer to hear his low voice better. "You can't let these guys scare you. You can't let them punk you. Because if you do that, you're gonna end up being somebody's bitch."

I sighed. "Don't want that."

"Thanks for the advice," Paul said as he stood from his seat.

"Where's he going?" I asked.

Caretaker shook his head. "Good question."

We watched as he made his way between tables until he was standing before a very big, very angry-looking hispanic man. Without hesitating, he grabbed the edge of his tin lunch tray and began pulling it away. The man turned and said something I couldn't hear to him. With one more remark, Paul smashed the tin tray into the top of the man's head.

All hell broke loose. Friends of the fallen man jumped to attack Paul. Other men fought just because there was an opportuity. The trannies just stood in the corner screaming, "Ah hell nah!"

Caretaker grabbed me by the elbow and lifted me with him. "Stay down," he whispered, pushing me down and guiding me under the table. He had just straightened back into a standing position when I heard his voice yell over the cacophony of violence, "Hornet's nest!"

Men everywhere dropped to the ground as whizzing noises covered their shouts. And then everything was silent.

I glanced around. Everyone was on the ground, curled into the fetal position, or just trying to press themselves as close to the ground as possible.

"Everyone stay down!" came a very testosterone-y voice (one I assumed belonged to the guard who threw the hornet's nest).

I recognized Knauer's voice immediately, "Come on, Crew, get up. Get up, Superstar."

I heard Crew getting up, dusting himself off. "Yes sir."

I didn't turn around as Knauer continued. "You think you can do anything you want around here, don't you? Well, you are no different than any other piece of shit that calls this place home."

"Really?" Crew asked. "These guys think you're a dumb redneck, too?"

I bit my lip around a giggle.

I heard the impact of something, and I wish I had been watching because something awesome must've happened; a low murmur started to ripple through the motionless bodies on the ground. "Better cut that shit out, it's getting old," Paul said cockily.

The rest of their conversation was short and quiet. The end of it was signaled by the sound of Crew's body hitting the ground.

Oo0oO

Caretaker told me that they had taken Paul to the hotbox. It was a week before they let him out. I knew it had to have been hell. I had grown up in Texas my whole life. The heat of the south was as unforgiving as it was inescapable.

During the day, I helped work in the kitchen, with some rather shady characters. I would've rather been outside in the sun (running the risk of running into that boy I had seen) but persuading the guards was proving to be more unhealthy for me than anything.

Caretaker had shown me the ropes, given me tips and pointers on how to remain inconspicuous (though some of them were pointless considering my gender). I had made my way through prison thus far unscathed, unless you counted the frequent visits by Knauer. But even those were no worse than they had been the day I arrived. Now all I got was a smack or a fierce pinch every now and then.

To my surprise, the trannies seemed to have formed some kind of bond with me. One I had been unaware of until they sat themselves beside me one day at lunchtime and began fervently discussing Angelina Jolie's gorgeous outfit at the Grammy's a few years before.

At the end of the week, Caretaker and Paul approached me with the idea of starting a football team.

Oo0oO

"It just seems kind of childish to me," I mumbled, toying with the end of my spoon. "I mean, it's like the warden thinks we're just his harem of playdolls."

Caretaker snorted. "The warden is a little bit crazy," he admitted. "But if Paul can do him a favor, things might go a little smoother for him."

"So why are you guys telling me about this?" I asked. "I'm a girl. A very fragile, easily-bruised, clumsy girl. There's no way I could play football. Especially not in a game between cops and robbers."

"Ah, but there is a way you could help," Paul said, giving me a devilish grin. "You're going to help Caretaker and I with training and paperwork. Basically management."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, if it'll get me out of this damn kitchen, I'm in."

* * *

**Well, updates will definitely be coming more often now. Though it's not hard to rival the updating speed of a year :P Thank you guys for being patient with me, I have a tendency to start something new while I'm in the middle of something and then swamping myself with the lurking terror of unfinished stories. **


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